Spilled Milk
by theboywhoscored
Summary: Sherlock is a victim of a hit and run, breaking some ribs and a leg. John cares for him. Johnlock.


"Sherlock, we need milk. For once in your life will you go pick some up?"

"I suppose so, John, if you'd like."

"Oh Sherlock, this is happily unexpected. Will you get some jam, too?"

"Don't push it," he grumbled as he put on his coat and knotted his blue scarf around his neck.

"I'll be back...don't miss me too much," he cracked, winking at John as he left the flat.

Less than two minutes later John heard tires screech and a sickening thud on the street right outside the flat. He ran to the window to see Sherlock laying on the pavement, curled up, bleeding, with no vehicle in sight.

"Oh shit, shit, shit!" John yelled as he grabbed his jacket and pulled it on, rushing down the stairs to street level. People were standing around the scene of the accident, staring at the blood.

"Will someone call a fucking ambulance already?" John yelled as he rushed to Sherlock's side. The people kept staring. "You, with the pink handbag, call an ambulance right now!" She pulled out her mobile and started dialing.

"Tell them we've had a hit-and-run and a pedestrian is injured. We're right outside 221B Baker Street." The woman nodded and relayed the information.

"Oh Sherlock, are you okay? You're pretty banged up. You don't look like you've broken any bones in the pretty face of yours..." Sherlock glared at him. "...but I can't say the same for the rest of you. We'll get you checked out properly with some x-rays at the hospital but I wouldn't be surprised if you broke a few ribs and maybe wrecked some tendons or even bones in your legs from being hit...I'm hoping you only have some bruises and sprains, but like I said, we'll take you in to get checked out properly."

The ambulance arrived and the paramedics rushed over to Sherlock, who was now sitting upright on the pavement, dazed, blood running down the side of his head. They directed him to lie down so they could move him onto a stretcher but he wouldn't have it.

"If you insist I take an ambulance I will get into it myself. A stretcher is unnecessary."

John looked at the medics apologetically and helped Sherlock stand up, only to have his knees buckle under his own weight.

"Sherlock, you've really messed up your legs...just let them help you," John pleaded.

"Oh bloody hell..." Sherlock exclaimed as he collapsed back down onto the pavement. "Okay, the stretcher..."

The medics lifted him onto the stretcher and rolled him into the back of the ambulance and hooked him up to machines to take his blood pressure, pulse, and oxygen concentration. A medic shined a light in his eyes to check for proper reflexes. John sat next to him and held his hand, rubbing it gently with his thumb, trying to be comforting.

Once they got to the hospital they took x-rays, revealing several broken ribs and a fractured tibia. Luckily he did not have a concussion. He was sleeping.

The doctor came to speak with John. "Are you his husband?"

"Oh, no...no...we're not...I'm not...I'm his flat mate."

"Oh. Yes...okay. Are you going to be the one caring for him after he is discharged?"

"Yes."

"Okay then. Well, he has some broken bones. Try to keep him in bed resting with lots of ice and I'll send home some pain medication."

"Okay, thank you doctor. When will he be discharged?"

"He should be ready to go later tonight. Oh, I almost forgot, someone is waiting for you at the front desk. They said they needed to talk to you. It's a woman."

John left the room and walked to the front of the lobby. He recognized the woman at once.

"Oh, tell Mycroft to fuck off. I'm not in the mood for playing games."

"He needs to talk to you," the woman said, briefly looking up from her mobile phone.  
>"Oh bloody hell. I suppose the car is out front then?"<p>

"Yes. Just cooperate. It makes things easier."

"I seriously hate your boss," John spat as they got into the back of the dark car. She shrugged and went back to texting.

The driver brought them to a warehouse, as usual. John turned to the woman, "Can't Mycroft have us meet at a park or something? He really gets off on being melodramatic, doesn't he?" She looked at him and shrugged, very clearly not giving a shit.

"Okay, Mycroft, what's the problem this time? Your brother is in hospital at the moment...maybe you should be a little concerned about him?" John yelled, annoyed.

Mycroft walked out of the shadows and looked at John intensely. "I know he's in hospital. I had someone put him there."

"You sick bastard! What the fuck is wrong with your family? Good god!"

"I need him out of the way for a few days...important business."

"I don't suppose you'll tell me what is so important for you to break your brother's ribs and leg for?"

"No, official government business. Top secret."

"Oh Mycroft, you make me want to fucking kill you sometimes."

"I wouldn't suggest following through on those urges. Now I would appreciate it if you would tend to my poor injured brother and keep him in bed where he belongs. Good day, John," Mycroft said smoothly as he disappeared back into the shadows.

"I DON'T EVEN WANT TO IMAGINE HOW TERRIBLE TO EACH OTHER YOU WERE AS CHILDREN!" John yelled after him as he clenched his fists and turned to leave. He got back into the car.  
>"Who are you always texting?" John asked the woman.<p>

"Oh, no one. I'm just playing Farmville. You should really try it sometime.

John stared at her with his mouth agape. "Farmville? You've gotta be fucking kidding me." He rolled his eyes and buried his head in his hands for a second and then ran them down his face. "Seriously?"

She gave him a little smile and got back to her phone activities.

John asked the driver to bring him back to the hospital and they were off.

"God, someday Mycroft is going to run out of spooky and foreboding places to meet me and will need to settle for a goddamn petting zoo."

When John arrived back at the hospital Sherlock was already awake.

"Where were you, John?"

"Oh...I...I went out for a bite and some coffee."

"They needed to but my leg in a cast...it's broken. They did it while I was knocked out from the morphine. John, look at my cast. It's pink, John! It's bloody pink!"

John started laughing hysterically.

"It's not funny, John! I need to wear this atrocity for weeks! Did I mention it is _PINK?"_

"Oh Sherlock, you'll make it," John snorted.

Sherlock's doctor entered the room. "Well, I have all the discharge paperwork signed. You can go home now. I'll send some painkillers with you. I suggest you spend the next few days in bed and not do anything too strenuous."

"Thank you, doctor," John smiled.

John helped Sherlock get dressed and he pushed him out to a taxi in a wheelchair, much to Sherlock's annoyance. He hated feeling like an invalid.  
>When they got back to the flat John helped Sherlock up the stairs to his bedroom and helped him change into his bedclothes. It was getting late.<p>

"John? Will you sleep with me tonight? Just...will you talk to me until I fall asleep?"

"Sure, Sherlock. I'll go get you some ice for your ribs. I'll be right back."

John returned wearing his own pyjamas with a bag of ice. He climbed under the covers with Sherlock and spooned against him, holding the bag of ice to his chest.

"Are you okay or do you need some more pain medication?"

"No, no...I'm okay. Thank you for sleeping by me."

"It's okay...I am kind of glad you asked."

"I knew you would be..."

John kissed the back of Sherlock's neck softly. The tall man shuddered.

"Did you and Mycroft ever get along?"

"That's an odd question to ask...but the answer is no. We never really got along. We always kind of butted heads."

"I don't like him much."

"Good, neither do I."

"You know, John...you have a special voice when you talk to me sometimes. A voice that you don't use with anyone else. It's calm and patient.._.loving,_ even."

"Well, Sherlock..." John blushed, "you're probably the most important person in my life. And I do..." his voice cracked. "I _do_ love you."

Sherlock rolled over to face John, even though it was painful. He kissed John softly on the lips, much to his surprise, and softly told him "Well, I love you, too," before burying his head in John's chest.

"John?" Sherlock started, muffled by John's t-shirt.

"Yes?"

"I'm never getting the milk again."


End file.
